Amor in Contentia
by ArrogantSlytherin
Summary: The majority of Wizarding Britain considers the wounds from the Second War healed. Draco has rejoined the ranks of upstanding citizens, has a career in potion development, and everything a person could want… except Hermione. But what right does he have to object if Hermione is happy? The answer is every right. Especially since Hermione isn't happy. EWE M for dub con, no lemons
1. Chapter 1

**For some of my favorite people**

 **READ** (you should always read my A/Ns but definitely read this one)

 **This fic contains emotional manipulation via potion/dub con, though there won't be any explicit sex. It's M for the subject matter and premise. You can interpret this as Weasley Bashing, but I think it's too restrained to be actual BASHING... It shouldn't be more than a five chapters and MAYBE an epilogue. Slow-ish burn? Can you have a slow burn in five chapters?**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Because reality continues to ruin my life.**

Draco lounged in the open door of Hermione's office waiting to be noticed. She had this ridiculous 'open-door' policy which tended to prevent her from getting her actual work done since she spent most of her energy bandaging the figurative booboos incompetent idiots brought her. Actually, he _had_ seen her putting some sort of adhesive bandage on someone's papercut once… He couldn't decide on exactly how many levels the idea was ludicrous, but he had been able express at least five of them to her retreating and rapidly unraveling chignon once she'd sent the bandage recipient on their way.

She hadn't been particularly receptive to his feedback.

When she finally did admit her policy was idealistic, inefficient, and responsible for her alarming stress levels, he _might_ consider admitting the open-door thing had its advantages. For example, it gave him the perfect opportunity to hunt down her hair's most accurate color descriptor without her notice.

In all his years of study, he'd only determined the color was too blonde to be brunette, too mahogany to be chestnut, and too coppery to glint like honey. In fact, he was fairly certain her hair actively changed colors to vex him.

"Lunchtime already?"

Her amused question jolted him from his musing about color. He adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt to buy himself time for an appropriately disinterested and put upon response. "Well, contrary to what you may think, Granger, I don't make a hobby of lingering on your threshold for the aesthetics."

He caught her little smile as she bustled about her desk. "Did you get the fabric swatches I sent?" he asked, lounging deeper as she hunted through the parchment stacks consuming her office. Her wand was in her hair and her shoes were beneath the cloak tree so Draco couldn't guess what she was after.

" _Yes_ ," she retorted. "And, as I keep _saying_ , I don't need curtains for a window I don't _have_." He heard a soft grunt and one of the stacks wobbled ominously.

"Well, perhaps curtains might finally encourage you to pursue a career with a decent office." She was wasting his sacred hour of being the focus of her attention. And he'd missed breakfast.

"I _like_ my career."

He frowned, weighing the wisdom of antagonizing her further against the edge of annoyance in her voice. She usually lasted much longer before he got her to react. "May I help you find something?"

"Oh, don't be condescending. I _have_ a system."

"I am aware." She sounded like she was hunting along the baseboards behind her desk. He refused to dwell on the image his brain provided. "And while I have the _utmost_ respect for your system," he paused waiting for her snort before continuing with a smile, "I have to wonder at the power of this mystical item that it can defy both summoning charms _and_ my dining schedule."

He dropped his eyes to his cuticles, so he wouldn't be caught looking amused or have his expression misinterpreted as smug. Her head popped up on his right. He detected her chagrin in his peripherals. Her expressiveness, even when she refused to react, was one of the few benefits of holding so plebian a position as "ministry grunt".

Her little purple bag emerged from a tottering heap of rolled up parchment on her filing cabinet and shot to her hand. He held her cloak for her since the door was already open (another reason her policy was stupid) and he enjoyed how flustered simple chivalry made her. The warmth of her skin tone made her blushes unique. Fascinating.

"You _didn't_ win, so you have _no_ reason to be that smug."

"Why, Miss Granger! Conversations are not competitions! You cannot _win_ a conversation!"

"Draco Malfoy, you will _not_ play innocent with me. I _know_ you keep some kind of mental score when we argue." He gestured she precede him onto the lift.

"You're rather adamant," he murmured, aware of the press of other bodies fleeing to lunch.

"And you're a prat," she muttered back. He smirked because she couldn't see him.

"What a harsh accusation."

"That you aren't denying." The lift clattered to a halt, spilling the occupants into the packed lobby.

"I never contradict a lady." He kept close in the jostling masses trying to reach the floos. His hand hovered by her back, careful not to touch her, but also careful not to lose her.

"Except about curtains," Hermione concluded triumphantly, spinning to face him despite how it impeded the flow of humanity around them.

Malfoys are never unnerved by the proximity of beautiful women, but he nearly tripped over this one and the mere _thought_ , not to mention the distinctly squishable woman herself, was unnerving. He snatched his hand back to his side. "That's not contradiction, that's bettering a lady's environment. Completely chivalrous. I thought you had 7 years of experience with the concept?"

She made her wrinkled nose disapproval face and turned away. "Just for that we're eating sushi."

He groaned because it would make her smirk. It was also a free opportunity to be dramatic and petulant without her poking him. Sushi wasn't _completely_ terrible.

"Why would Muggles even _eat_ raw food if they have cooking devices?"

" _You_ eat steak tartare."

They neared the front of the queue for one of the huge black marble fireplaces. Time to wrap the conversation up. Their discussions tended to get emphatic and reporters enjoyed blowing things out of proportion any time they were caught 'discussing' in public. "That's _different_."

Her back stiffened, but she couldn't retort without holding up the line and causing a scene.

He awarded himself a point or ten for his brilliant timing as he watched her disappear in a swirl of green flames.

A minute or so later, he stepped through the floo to the Leaky Cauldron…

… and immediately wished he hadn't made her resort to sushi.

Hermione stood fidgeting as her sort of boyfriend asked about her lunch plans. If there was a thread of suspicion in the ginger git's tone, Draco pretended to ignore it. A year of probation was not something he wished to repeat any time soon. So, with a stern mental reminder about the media fallout for publicly hexing a member of the Golden Trio, he grit his teeth and sidled up to the happy couple.

"Finishing some shopping, Ronald?"

" _Yes_ , not that it's any of your business. Would you excuse Mione and me for a moment? I need to review a few details about dinner tonight." Resentment bubbled along the edges of Draco's mind. Weasley sounded like he was investigating a murder not planning a romantic evening.

But Draco glanced down at Hermione, hoping, as he always did, for some indication that she didn't want him to go. She cast half a glance at him and gave an almost indiscernible, but none-the-less binding, little nod. He bared his teeth at the ginger,dismissing him with a glance until he noted the little crimson bag standing out sharply against the nondescript brown auror coat. "Thomsonicle's? Was there an anniversary note I forgot to send?"He kept his tone as affable as he could. Hermione started next to him. Weasley glowered and shoved the bag into a pocket with a stubborn glance away. Draco allowed the silence to be awkward for a moment before saying, "No? My mistake. Miss Granger, I'll be by the bar." He bowed as much as the casual setting allowed, smirked at Weasley, and strode off.

If Hermione hadn't been there, he would have ordered and then finished a bottle of Ogden's Finest. Thomsonicle's sold jewelry.

They specialized in rings.

 **Hopefully I will have more for you next week! I hardly ever write romance... Only the affection I bear for certain individuals prompted such a blatantly romantic endeavor... Tell me what you think so far... I want to know.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello. Yes, it is me. Please don't throw yourself at my feet; groveling is so unbecoming.**

 **Fun Fact: apparently everything I said in the first chapter's A/N was a lie. Funny old world idnit?**

 **Bask in unrestrained... whatever this is.**

 **Disclaimer: Ownership is such an abstract concept, don't you agree? I don't OWN Harry Potter... but we're all allowed to dream, aren't we...?**

"I really am sorry he was so rude to you back there," Hermione fretted again, dunking her spicy tuna roll in the little dish of soy sauce spasmodically. The rice had turned a murky brown, like a dried scab, and little splashes of soy sauce stained the wooden serving slab.

Draco hummed in acknowledgment, chewing placidly. He studied her with cool grey eyes, resting his chin on the back of his hand. Black plastic chopsticks dangled from his long, pale fingers. Weasley was always rude to him and she always apologized for it with this same fidgety lack of eye contact. It would have been morbidly fascinating if it wasn't so incredibly frustrating.

"I mean, I know he's always been a bit of a hot head, no one can deny that… But, I mean, it's been _years_. If _I_ could find it in myself to forgive you…"

"As I recall, your forgiveness came at the price of my world shattering research into affordable alternatives to Wolfsbane."

She waved him off with the hand still holding the sodden, slowly disintegrating sushi roll. "That's not the point." He delicately wiped the droplet of soy sauce from his cheek. The gesture and his expression were lost, however, because she was off on her own tangent. "He's been nothing but suspicious and horrible to you ever since he found us in my office that one time!" Bemused, he sucked the droplet from his finger. Still no reaction. "He said you were trying to poison and kidnap me, did I tell you that?"

"I do believe you've mentioned it once or twice, yes."

She didn't acknowledge him, plunging the sushi roll back into the dish of soy sauce. "I mean, I know Goyle had that incident with the… vampire…" He snorted at her prim terminology. She didn't seem to hear. "But he knows me! There's no way you'd be able to kidnap me or poison me or even beat me in a duel!"

"Well that's an utterly unfounded assumption," He muttered, affronted by the dismissal.

Derailed and disgruntled, she jerked her gaze from her food. "We've proved it conclusively on several occasions."

"Well, I was never allowed to explore the full range of tactical options my charms allow me."

She scrunched her nose up in disdain. "Your _charms_?"

"If I bothered to seduce you, your surrender or defeat would be inevitable."

"If you _bothered_ -"

"But I'm far more interested in discussing why your darling little boy toy is so upset about our lunch dates. This isn't exactly our first time."

She rolled her eyes and he grinned, pleased she caught the innuendo. "They're _not_ dates. They're meetings between colleagues to promote inter-departmental cooperation that just so happen to occur during lunch."

A slow smile spread across his face as blood suffused her cheeks. He loved how her skin tone changed when she blushed. It was more subtle than every other girl his parents used to throw him at during balls and functions. Subtle, but it spread across her entire face and (if he got her embarrassed enough) down past the collar of her prim dress shirts. "Semantics, Granger. Anyway, if they're so casual and professional, why do they still upset Weasley?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Because he thought we stopped having them once I got my werewolf legislation through."

"That was a year ago." He frowned. She wouldn't look at him. "So, I'm what? Your dirty little secret? Some guilty pleasure?" His eyes narrowed and he sneered, "Are you going to hide me under your mattress with your vibrator?"

"I don't want to have to deal with Ron finding out, _okay_!?" She exploded. Draco froze, cast a quick glance around the restaurant, and subtly erected muffling and Notice Me Not spells. Hermione ranted on, oblivious. "He demanded I quit when I mentioned our departments were collaborating on the werewolf initiative! I _know_ his prejudices are just his stupid schoolyard grudges, but that doesn't make it any easier to try to coax him past them, so, I'm _sorry_ if I just want some peace in my relationship!" Water pooled along her lower lids.

"I don't want an apology," he said quietly, his eyes boring into hers, willing her to understand. "Words are just cages of hot air. You know my feelings about dearest Ronald."

She glowered, breathing heavily and fighting the tears. "Your extensive opinions have been noted. Except, if I broke up with Ron, Molly would-"

"You'd sacrifice your life and happiness on a theoretical reaction from Molly Weasley!?" he demanded, allowing some shadow of his incredulous frustration to shine through. "Granger, he had a bag from _Thomsonicle's_."

"There's no evidence that was for me!"

"Oh. Of course. How presumptuous and illogical of me. Ronnikins cheats with Lavender. Maybe it's for _her_."

She winced, her hands skittering from the tears which had finally slipped down her cheeks to her hair. "That was uncalled for," she whispered. Her shoulders were rigid and her brown eyes were hidden behind her lids as she glared down at the mangled spicy tuna roll abandoned in the soy sauce dish.

Pain and regret lanced his chest. He would have preferred to be locked in Greyback's cell.

"I shouldn't have said it," he agreed.

"He told his mother he stopped seeing Lavender."

"You told him you stopped seeing me."

"It's different. With Bill and Ginny both married, and George finally settled with Angelina, and Fred and Arthur… Not to mention her _health_ … He would never lie to her about that. He's the only one who still _talks_ to her regularly. It's just the two of them, now, and, whatever else, he wouldn't lie to her."

"He would, Granger. Trust me, he would. I guarantee you she's being more vicious and overbearing about mothering him. She won't consider anyone's feelings but her own on whether he's sufficiently happy. He's probably lying through his teeth to her about everything she wouldn't approve of just so he can keep some illusion of freedom."

"You don't know-"

"Yes, I do. Why do you think I moved to that flat near Hyde Park?"

Hermione huffed a breath and got one of her stubborn looks. "Molly isn't like that. She has been nothing but kind to both of us since I went after my parents after the last of the Death Eaters were captured. She practically took me in-"

"You got a secret _flat_ because she didn't want Ronnikins to move out to comfort you."

"She's like a mother to me! She taught me to cook and loads of useful household magic-"

"To make you the best little housewife she possibly can and ensure you don't feel comfortable asking Dreamboat about getting a little newlywed love shack once she convinces him to marry you. Which, apparently, she _has_."

She stared at him. He raised pale eyebrows, inviting her, without words, to deny it.

Her face crumpled with worry and doubt and she seemed to shrink into her seat. "I owe them."

"You owe them NOTHING you haven't already repaid in SPADES," he snarled, finally at his breaking point. Draco waited for her to rally at his tone. He waited for her fiery defense whenever he pushed too far about her relationship with the Weasleys. She didn't even look at him and it eviscerated him.

He hated when she made him feel guilty for caring about her boundaries. _Someone_ had to. "Hermione?" he prompted, hunkering down in his seat to try to find her gaze in the mass of riotous curls.

She turned her face to the side; her thumbnail found its way between her teeth and her left arm wrapped itself around her waist. "She wouldn't."

Draco expelled a gusty breath and broke his only rule for himself.

He touched her.

Nothing major, just a gentle tug on her forearm to pull her hand away from her teeth.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning closer, holding her hand between his own. "Don't let all my hard work getting you on a manicure regimen go to waste."

"I have to break up with him."

"I quite agree."

"I'll do it after-"

"OH no. Your band-aid approach would be best here, I think. Either owl him or stop by his office as soon as we get back."

"I can't," she whimpered.

"If you're worried about backlash, you can sleep on my _couch_ if it comes to that. I mean, you'll have to promise not to try anything with my virtue, but..." She smiled weakly, misery lining her expression. He pressed on. "Granger. You monopolize our lunchtime almost every day with your complaints about Weaselbee. I shudder to think what our conversations would devolve to if you actually _married_ the idiot."

"I _can't_ do it tonight. It's the first anniversary of Arthur's death. I _can't_ do that to him."

* * *

"Ronald? Is that you?" He sighed and beat the ashes from his overcoat. She sounded OK, considering he'd left her on today of _all_ days.

"Yeah, mum. It's me. I'm back."

She appeared around the corner from the entryway. He allowed himself a relieved breath to note her hair was out of its curlers and she'd put on a work dress. It hung off her like limp bedding but it wasn't her nightgown.

"Where's Hermione?"

"I told you, mum," he replied patiently, "she works late on Tuesdays. But I saw her at lunch and she said she'd be over around seven."

She pursed her lips, the sallow flaps of skin around her jaw and neck easing the tension of the expression.

Ron felt physically heavy; he could have sworn he was older than time in that moment. "Mum…"

"I didn't say anything."

"Hermione's work is very important to her."

"Is she still working with the Malfoy boy?"

He tensed, his hands going to his pockets and his ears heating up.

She gave him a pitying but triumphant look, coming around to place withered hands on either side of his face. They were so heart wrenchingly clammy. "You're so good, Ron. So Patient. Don't worry. She'll grow out of it."

He swallowed and glanced away. "Mum, Hermione's colleagues are her business."

Ice flashed through Molly Weasley's gaze. "The nephew of the psychotic bitch who nearly killed her, the one _responsible_ for Dumbledore's death…" She huffed. "Ron, Darling, it isn't _seemly_ for her to traipse about with… people like that."

"She doesn't _traipse_. It was a one-time thing. She promised me she stopped seeing him."

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips for a moment but then smoothed her face into an adoring smile. "Of course you're right. I'll let it go. Now come through here. Lunch is ready. I know how grumpy my Ron gets if he isn't properly fed."

 **I have many deeply held and acidic thoughts about the Weasleys. I many deeply held and acidic thoughts about many of the champions of the "light"... Leave me a review and convince me I'm misguided. I dare you. ;)**


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